The Futility Infielder

Monday night was a great night for scoreboard watching. I've spent the better part of the last three days in front of my computer working on both this week's Hit List and an my latest piece for the New York Sun, on the Cleveland Indians' incredible surge, which not so coincidentally has taken them to #2 on the List. I haven't been able to sit down and watch an entire game, even a TiVo Express version, in that span, but I've listened and followed along intently on GameCast. And I'm checking Baseball Prospectus' Postseason Odds Report about half a dozen times per day, wondering how the last two weeks of this season might unfold.

In writing about the Indians, I've gotten very absorbed in their story -- the rebuilding, the low payroll, the 33-11 (or whatever) streak they've been on to cut the White Sox lead from 15 to 2.5 games in seven weeks' time, the development of Grady Sizemore, Coco Crisp, Jhonny Peralta et al. I despise Sox manager Ozzie Guillen's brand of bullshit enough that while my head tells me to root for the Sox to the Yankees' benefit, my heart tells me a Sox collapse and Indians rise is a much better outcome, both a better story and a better example to the game. That Indians' GM Mark Shapiro has done this on a $41.5 million Opening Day payroll (26th out of 30 teams) with an offense spearheaded by five players who are among the top four in the AL at their positions, VORP-wise, and make a combined total of $1,999,900 is something more people -- fans, execs and analysts -- need to recognize. Memo to Joe Morgan: stick this slice of Moneyball in your piehole, bitch.

Last night was a great time to be following all of this stuff. The Yanks came back from down 2-0 to win on a walk-off homer by Bubba Crosby, who had exactly one extra-base hit all year. With an economy and a flair for the dramatic worthy of Barry Bonds, Bubba turned on a pitch in his happy zone and crushed it about 425 feet. He stood admiring it at home plate for a long moment before raising his fist in the air and rounding the bases triumphantly. The jubilation with which he was greeted by the senior Yankees in the dugout was one of those feel-good moments that have become all too rare as the Torre dynasty creeps along on its last legs. Meanwhile, the Red Sox were falling to the Devil Rays on the GameCast, and the Indians were recovering from having blown a 4-0 lead to take one from a White Sox bullpen performance straight out of the Creeping LaRussaism handbook -- four pitchers, four outs. Even mindful of Chicago's injury woes, I can't stand seeing that kind of micromanaging rewarded, so bully for Cleveland.

At this point I have to say that I'm done kvetching about the Wild Card and its negative impact on the game. The fact that so many teams carried hope into September is a great thing even if most of them will drop an axle like the Mets or Nationals somewhere along the way. Circle of life, kids, just like when the bunny rabbit gets eaten by the mountain lion. The fact that the six-team AL race is going to end in heartbreak for at least two of those teams is great drama, even -- hell, especially, in the big picture -- if one of them is the team in pinstripes. I'm not rooting against the Yanks, who are on a 9-2 run that's cut their deficit in the AL East to a half-game, But for the next six weeks, I'm determined to enjoy this one as a baseball fan -- maniacally following three games at once -- first, and a partisan second.

Labels: New York Sun